Down position

 
All that's left is to avoid tomorrow. The problem-root of troubles, like busy moles, chewing away at the path of both success and further meritorious validation. Can there no longer be in the heart of man a single, secluded, sacred refuge or nook where he can bravely or deservedly hide for a while?!

We have become naked, like the aimless dead with their beards in the prison of the dissecting table, or in the chains of interrogation lights. Caring, helping hands, it is feared, could all be called in vain in great troubles. A questioning company of orphans would call Witnesses, judges, apostates,- But all already feel, and know, As targets of the Future's crosshairs, All tried, bumpy roads back to infinity.

Into cries, or unshareable pains hung on the walls of silent silences - there is no longer any reason to be bitter. Careful footprints they would have planted in the loops of hesitant Time, but between Will and Will it was easy to become bound halfway through the concrete. - With sold emotions still wolf-eyed in aimless, childish sincerity, But a heart became a commodity to be unloaded. Among unlocked souls, the one waiting for home is always ostracized!

From painted women, from prostitute-angels in cedar, face-paint drips down, and not repentance or truth-telling golgotha-underlay. She wanders in the bays and coves of closed nervous systems, for neither love nor tenderness can find its deserved place. It engages in cheap, petty cat-and-mouse games, trying to survive one more well-oiled relationship. The Tartuffe hypocrite is lying to himself if his honest human face is still visible behind his mask!